


you taste like yesterday

by roseluu (rowanscrown)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-12-25 21:30:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12044676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowanscrown/pseuds/roseluu
Summary: It takes a while.





	you taste like yesterday

**Author's Note:**

> Scrapped story.

He sits and waits.

A lot of waiting happens in a meeting. He wouldn’t have to sit and wait if he leaves, as he was not invited. But sitting and waiting has become a matter of pride and fault. He isn’t backing down.

But, now, take a step back.

What will happen, some would say it’s fate. In this room, fate is not a common belief, as much as it is believed to be a common courtesy. Fate says destiny is involved, and destiny certainly isn’t real, not to them.

Some would say something is rocky. An anthill, perhaps. Or, a cliff. And it somehow crumbles under a quiet wind, and what lays after is what conspires to be truth.

Some say someone lost their sanity.

He sits. And waits. And waits some more. The presentator glares at his constant sighing, along with the thrumming of his fingertips on the table.

A book drops. It isn’t noticed. But, his chair sways the slightest bit. Someone curses. This day, his eyes stray behind him. Any other day, they wouldn’t have. But today, they do.

A blond man picks up the fallen book, softly apologizes, and walks away.

The stranger is beautiful, and Gilbert is sure he’s in love.

…

He finds the man quickly, after the droning meeting. He’s standing next to Alfred, and Alfred isn’t hard to miss.

“Who the hell _are_ you?” he says, and points. Alfred’s mouth stutters shut for a moment. The blond man’s stationary smile slopes to the side.

Alfred looks confused. “Are you talking to me?”

Gilbert rolls his eyes and stabs a finger into the blond man’s chest. “You. Who are you?”

Alfred’s smile thins.

“I’m Canada,” the man says.

…

Canada is a quiet nation. He had gained independence by asking for it, refused blue on his flag, and speaks without a French accent despite being raised by Francis.

He’s beautiful. Big, yet slim. Cold, yet warm. Quiet, yet loud.

At least, Gilbert surmises.

…

“I don’t even want to grope you,” Gilbert says after the meeting, confused. “Why is that?”

Canada’s blush heats his ears. “That is quite upfront, Prussia.”

“You know my name?”

“Yes, of course.”

Canada opens his car door and slides into the driver’s seat. Gilbert draws closer, leaning over him until he can smell sweet maple. “Where do you live?”

“North of my brother.”

“Who’s your _bruder_?”

“America.”

Gilbert resists yanking his hair. “Why have I never heard of you?”

“I don’t know,” Canada says, softly. He turns the key in the ignition and leans out the door. “Are you coming?”

Gilbert, of course, follows.

…

Canada is a quiet lover. Gilbert looks over this – it’s not every day he sleeps with one of the most beautiful men he’s ever seen.

( _Something in me hopes you will remember_ , Canada tells him. Gilbert does not hear this.)

Canada appears upset.

“Canada? Do you want me to stop?” he asks.

Canada’s short, dark lashes blink heavily. “What? What did you just call me?”

“Your name. Oh, _Gott_ , you _are_ crying. I thought I saw you crying. Am I hurting you?”

Canada laughs. He’s quiet, still. “No. No, you’re not.”

…

Fate only goes so far. Or, anthills, cliffs, sanity. Whatever it may be, it must have a grained surface, littered with unfulfilled promises.

Gilbert sees Canada again, during another meeting.

Something escapes his mouth. Then, “Who are you?”

The blond man has purple eyes, blue-violet and wide. Gilbert doesn’t call people gorgeous, but it slips from his tongue.

“I’m Canada,” the man says. “And thank you.”

Gilbert insists they go for coffee. After the meeting, which is spent with him and Peter scribbling ugly sketches of Ludwig, they drive to the nearest shop and sit. Canada orders hot chocolate with a shot of maple sweetening.

“You seem familiar,” Gilbert says, sipping on his black coffee.

Canada smiles. “I lived with Francis a long time ago.”

“You did? Well, I should have seen you, then!”

“Maybe.”

…

Canada’s bed smells like maple and lemon, with the slightest hint of cigarette smoke. Canada sleeps curled in a ball, and Gilbert wakes up and makes breakfast.

Canada shuffles through the kitchen shirtless and stops. “What are you doing?”

Gilbert flips a pancake. “I’m putting my awesome cooking skills to use. Duh. And, why do you have so much pancake mix?”

“You’re making…breakfast?”

“Is that a crime?”

Canada is silent. Gilbert waves the wooden spatula. “Canada? _Hallo_?”

“Sorry, sorry.” Canada sits at the kitchen table. “This is nice of you.”

…

Gilbert hears the name again from his brother.

“…trade has been going well, with America’s brother. Cana…Canadia, is it?”

Gilbert’s fingers flurry to his mouth. “Canada?”

“Ah, yes, Canada.”

Gilbert gasps. “I remember him! He’s the one with the blond hair!”

“…Lots of people have blond hair, _bruder_.”

“Eh, whatever. I think I slept with him once.”

Ludwig stares, then sighs. “I do not want to hear about this.”

…

Gilbert finds Alfred at the next meeting.

“Where’s your brother?”

Alfred’s smile eases slowly, then disappears. Next to him, Arthur frowns. “Brother?”

“He’s talking about Mattie.”

“Oh! Dear Matthew. Is he here?”

Alfred nods. “He sat next to me.”

“He was here the entire time?” Arthur asks.

Gilbert waves a hand. “Would you tell me where he went already?”

“He left a few minutes ago,” Alfred says. He lays a hand on Gilbert’s shoulder and grins. “If you’re going to use him, at least try to remember him a little, m’kay?”

“The hell do you mean by that?”

Alfred laughs loudly and pulls Arthur out the door.

…

Canada is on the phone outside. He speaks so quietly Gilbert is unable to hear. When he ends the call, he taps his shoulder.

“Still gorgeous,” Gilbert says.

“What?” Canada says.

“Let’s go out for coffee.”

…

“You don’t drink coffee?”

“No, that’s my brother’s thing.”

…

Canada has a polar bear, apparently. He shuffles through the house and paws at Gilbert’s leg when he stands up to make breakfast.

“Who are you?” the bear says.

“I’m Gil.” When he kneels to pet him, he wrinkles his nose. “Ugh, you smell like fish. Not awesome.”

…

Something in the universe collides the slightest bit.

Well, they collide.

Gilbert rounds a corner, slams his forehead into another forehead, feels something solid hit his toes, loses his balance, and falls on top of someone.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, that fucking _hurt_ ,” he hisses, and braces his arms on either side of blond hair.

“I’m so sorry,” the man says.

Gilbert stares. “Oh, _Gott_ …”

“Can you get off, please?”

Gilbert stands and helps the man up, along with his heavy briefcase. “Who the fuck are you?”

The man looks panicked and steps back once. “Look, I’m really sorry. I hadn’t meant to bump into you.”

“Oh, shut up – answer my question.”

“…I’m Canada.”

…

Gilbert tastes tears.

“Fuck, am I hurting you?”

“No, I’m fine.” Canada’s voice is tight, and his fingers wind around the sheets like ropes. “I’m a bit sore. Just…be gentle, please?”

For some reason, this makes Gilbert angry.

…

“He looks so much like you – you _have_ to know who I’m talking about,” Gilbert whispers. He’s scrabbling to pull his jeans over his hips as quietly as he can. “He even says that _oui_ shit.”

“You slept with one of my people? My, my, Gilbert, you sure are daring,” Francis says into the phone. “But, unfortunately, I haven’t a clue who you’re insinuating.”

“C’mon, man. He’s a country. He’s blond and has these weird purple eyes? Smells like maple syrup?” Francis makes a noise like an indiscreet huff. “Canada? Ring a bell?”

“Ah, dear Matthew!”

Gilbert picks up a shirt and sniffs it before shrugging it on. “That’s his name?”

“ _Oui_. I raised him long ago. Why, I haven’t seen him in so long!”

“ _Ja_ , well, I just slept with him, and I think I’m going to have to add an _again_ to that.” Gilbert pauses in shoving on his shoe. “And what do you mean you haven’t seen him – he was at the world meeting today.”

Francis sighs once. “My Matthew isn’t one to stand out, Gilbert. I suppose I forget him as much as everyone else, sad to say. But he has an open heart and is so genuine. I raised him perfectly.”

“Really?” Gilbert glances to the pale back peeking out from the cream-white sheets. “Sorry, Franny, but I don’t think you know him much anymore.”

Francis sounds offended. “Why would you say that?”

“Whatever, it’s really nothing.” He glances at the clock resting on the bedside table. “Look, it’s nearly three in the morning. I’ve got to go before he hears me.”

“You’re leaving before morning? That’s quite rude, _mon ami_.”

“I have a bad feeling,” Gilbert says honestly, but laughs. “I think I did something stupid.”

…

The name _Matthew_ sticks thickly in his mind. He doesn’t know who it belongs to.

…

The blond man is alone, and he spots him from across the room.

“Holy fuck,” he says, and his stomach twists.

…

Suspicion creeps in, and Gilbert minds the limp in the blond’s leg as he chatters next to him.

The blond man slips into the driver’s seat.

“Who are you?” Gilbert asks.

“I’m Canada,” he says.

Gilbert smiles and leans over the door. “Your name isn’t Matthew?”

Canada says, “Are you coming?”

( _You’re not any different_ , Canada says. Gilbert hears this.)

…

Long after, he sees him again.

His hands shudder to a stop, and he strides over to him. “Woah, woah, _woah_ , who the fuck are you?”

“Oh, I’m Canada,” the blond with pretty, purple eyes says. Gilbert can hardly hear him over the chatter in the meeting room.

He grins. “You’re cute, you know that?”

“Oh…um, thank you. That’s nice of you to say.”

He leans in close, mouth open, before snapping shut. Canada smells like maple syrup, and Gilbert feels himself straighten.

“Oh,” he says. “Shit.”

Canada cocks his head. “Sorry?”

He clears his throat. “Want to go out for drinks?”

…

Canada tastes like bitter beer and salt. He knows where the light switch is and is quiet during sex.

He pulls out a cigarette. Gilbert follows, and they smoke in bed together.

“I’m sorry,” Gilbert says.

Canada coughs once. “What?”

“I forgot about you.”

“Oh.” Canada drags on his cigarette. “It’s okay. It happens.”

“It must suck.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“Do the others do it, too?”

Canada doesn’t answer.

…

His car smells like maple syrup, for some reason.

Ludwig points it out on the way to a meeting, and Gilbert _remembers_.

…

“I found your place on a map,” Gilbert pants when Canada opens the door.

Canada is silent before he makes an indecipherable noise.

“And I’m sorry. I was as much of an asshole as the rest of them.”

“Prussia, seriously. You don’t have to – ”

“Yes, I do!” he snaps, and Canada falls silent. “Now, listen. I fucking googled your map, and I circled you on the map, and I bought maple syrup and keep sniffing it – so much my _bruder_ thinks I hid cocaine in it – and I wrote your name on my hand.” He lifts his hand and shoves it under Canada’s nose. “And I swear I’ll remember you. I promise, all right? And don’t take it fucking lightly either, I don’t go around doing this shit.”

Canada stares. Then says, “Prussia. Seriously, stop.”

“Oh, come on.”

“I said stop!”

Gilbert’s mouth clips shut.

“Look,” Canada sighs. “You don’t have to do any of this for me. You’ll forget about me, and that’s okay – ”

“Of course I’m going to forget you!” he says. “But I’m going to try not to!”

Canada lets go of the mahogany door to wring his fingers together. “Really, Prussia, it’s not – ”

“I mean it. Really.”

Canada shuffles in place, then looks to the ground. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay, fine.” He steps back and beckons. “Are you coming?”


End file.
